


You shall not covet your neighbor's wife

by Mikaeru



Series: The Ten Commandments [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), F/M, He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens), She/Her Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens), Top Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:07:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22961407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikaeru/pseuds/Mikaeru
Summary: Crowley is waiting for her husband in a crowded, upscale restaurant. Unfortunately (or not?) Doctor Fell is there as well.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: The Ten Commandments [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1645069
Comments: 1
Kudos: 75
Collections: COW-T - the Clash Of the Writing Titans





	You shall not covet your neighbor's wife

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this week's COWT M3. (come say hi on http://bebrave-andbekind.tumblr.com!)

The restaurant is buzzing with polite chatter and tiny sounds of cutlery against fine china, and the lights are butter-soft, like a shawl on her naked shoulders. Aziraphale suggested (more like requested, as he found fatal flaws in almost all her other dresses: “Oh no, dear, this isn't elegant enough for Céleste!”, “Oh, no, this is way too short. What are you doing with a dress this short out of this house anyway, foul temptress?”, “Darling, please, you very well know that brown is definitely not your colour. You don't have the right complexion – do not change it now!”) one of her red dresses, lace sleeves and sweetheart neckline. Her sharp collarbones are in display, and she mindlessly touch them with a fingertip, thinking about the last time Aziraphale drank wine from them.

She's waiting for him; he was supposed to sit near her table twenty minutes ago. She's tapping on the tablecloth, her patience thinning. He's just probably teasing, but her husband isn't the most punctual being on Earth, so who knows if he's playing with her or if he's just lost in a new book? She groans under her breath, looks around her one more time; there are a lot of newlywed couples (she can't sense love, nevertheless it's pretty obvious by the way they stare at each other, incapable of letting go of each other's hand) and a few who are there for a clean break up, one without hysterical scenes. She hopes for a one, however; there's nothing more entertaining than broken glasses and expensive food smeared everywhere. She looks right at a young woman, hair styled in a messy bun, completely inappropriate for her surroundings, who is nervously wringing her napkin; she seems to be aware enough of the situation here. Crowley snaps her fingers and fills her with a rage that will explode in the next fifteen minutes. If she's lucky, she will witness it.

The minutes are slow, dragging out like a punishment. She has half a mind to just leave, annoyed as she was, but suddenly she can sense him. She's still, perfectly in character, and doesn't even lift up her chin. She knows every inch of him, every little nook and cranny, but she's still excited to see him.

“Oh, Judith, my dear! What a nice coincidence! How are you, my dear girl?”

She now looks at him, as she's noticed him now, with a slightly worried expression, like a squirrel deep buried in a bird feeder.

“Doctor Fell. How long it's been.”, she replies with an unaffected tone, but one with a creeping nervousness. A throaty sound escapes her lips, eyes darting around the room.

(“Why Doctor Fell?”

“I want to be a surgeon.”

“You? A surgeon?”

“It's play pretend, dear, and being a surgeon seems quite an exciting career. Not something I would have chosen for myself, but surely something right to woo a fine woman like you.”)

“Quite a long time, dear. Had I know you liked this kind of restaurant I would have brought you here, but you didn't strike me as such.”

“Oh, no,” she waves a hand, “this is just my husband's favourite. I don't have a palate refined enough for this food, but it's been a month since the last time we were able to be together, so he reversed a spot here. You know how demanding is his job, how much he travels...”, she trails off, peeking from under her eyelashes, long and black with just a hint of glitter. “Are you here all alone, Doctor Fell?” She can't help it, and bats her eyes, coquettish. They're gold and shimmery, all the lights focused on them.

“Well, yes. I was just feeling peckish, and was in the neighbourhood. My office closed earlier than usual, today, and I didn't feel like driving home just yet.”

“Not even a pretty girl on your arm? That's a pity, Doctor Fell.”  
His gentle smile drops, and he takes a step towards her, and Crowley pretends to be afraid that he would sit across her, and take her hand and maybe kiss her. That's what her character would think now, and what Crowley is desperately wishing for. But she has to wait; Aziraphale always says that patience is a virtue, but she knows it's rather a sin, because it's the one she committed the most.

“You know perfectly well the only girl I want on my arm.”

She gulps, slightly chews on her lips; a heavy silence has fallen between them. His brows furrowed, the harsh line of his mouth, the white knuckles of his hands.

“Oh, Doctor Fell, don't be cruel...”

“I'm not the cruel one, dear girl.”

“Oh, you're just being unfair! You knew my situation all along, it was just time I'd come back to my senses...”

“I'm a hopeless romantic enough to think you'd choose me, after all.”

“Doctor Fell, this isn't the right place to talk about this...”

“Are you afraid your husband will see us?”

He's charming and handsome, defined curls and blue tie, and he looks so serious, so deeply, foolishly in love that Crowley's heart flutters like a robin's wings. She squirms under his hard gaze.

“You know I have to be with my husband, he loves me so much...”

(“You really have a knack for infidelity, don't you?”

“Yes, s' fun. The passion! The pathos! Why are we lying to each other? Why do I have to sneak behind your back? Why don't you pay me enough attention? Oh, all the lies we said to each other!”

“You're so dramatic, dear.”

“As I said. Fun.”)

“You look ravishingly beautiful tonight, my dear,” he changes topic in a murmur, voice so thin it's almost swallowed by their surroundings – but her ears catch it, obviously, as she's always tuned on her loved Doctor Fell, “Red suits you so well. I'm happy you're still wearing the dress I bought you. I've always had an eye for you, I must confess.”

Oh, this is quite clever. Adds a nice touch of possessiveness, makes him unforgettable despite everything. He dares to reach out to her, to touch – like a feather, like drops of spring rain – her arm, to stroke it gently, desperately. His eyes are shining, now, moved and full of prayers Crowley shivers as if he has kissed her. She holds his hand, takes it to her mouth. She doesn't care who's looking, doesn't care if her husband bolts out the main door of the restaurant.

“Oh, please,” she pleads, her throat all a knot. His fingers are silk touches against her cheek, so warm and soft.

“What are you asking me for, my girl?”

“We can't meet any more, Doctor Fell, this must be the last time...”

(“So, let me get this straight: this is a chance meeting.”

“At first, yes.”

“At first. Then we find out that, actually, it is a... role play?”

“Sort of.”

“But you're still married, yes?”

“Yes, of course.”

“This is rather convoluted.”

“Yeah, but it's been _forever_ since we last role played, so I had time to plot. Think of it like a matryoshka doll.” )

“You always say that, sweetheart, but then again you look for me, you call me, you send me the most delectable and suggestive texts...”

“Oh, please, don't make fun of me! Take me to bed instead.”

She exhales another little Oh!, and she covers her mouth with both hands, like an embarrassed virgin. The edges of Aziraphale's face melt, and his smile is full of daisies and peach ice cream.

“How forward we are tonight, Judith.”

“I wore this dress,” she confesses, her cheekbones red and bright, “I think that is forward enough.” She wants him to bite her shoulders, to rip the dress from her with a hand, while the other spread her legs. She thinks about being taken over one of the tables, while everyone watches. They haven't tried exhibitionism yet, but it's now on the list.

“There's a hotel nearby...”, she starts to suggest, feeling quite brave. She's rewarded with a smile, and she's offered a hand.

“Yes, yes, a thousand times yes, Judith, my darling beloved.”

Aziraphale is wearing the perfume she gave him a month ago, musk and blond woods. She dips her nose in the curve of his neck, and he tightly holds her waist, and starts ravishing her neck. She's all goosebumps, her legs are already jelly; the hallway is empty, and her breath echoes against the walls.

“Oh, Doctor Fell, please, stop teasing me..”

“Only if you start calling me Zachary again. I can't possibly be Doctor Fell to you, my darling.”

“Zachary,” she tries, as he fumbles with the keys of the room, while rubbing against her warmest spot with his knee. “Zachary, Zachary, Zachary...”

She throws her dress on the floor as soon as they're inside, kicks off her shoes, revealing a completely naked body. The room is warm and welcoming around her. She meets Aziraphale's eyes, liquid with love.

“Oh, Judith...”, he breaths out, hands already on her breasts, sucking on her nipples. She slightly arches her back against his mouth, hands holding his shirt. “I've never seen someone as utterly gorgeous as you.”

Oh, he's so charming, always the flatterer, but she wants more today, she doesn't want pretty words and long, lovely foreplay, she wants to ride him into the oblivion. She says as such, leaving scorching kisses all over to hide her face, and he picks her up like a bride. She's on the bed, legs impossibly spread open, moaning and panting as his hands roam all over her body, squeezing, stroking. She's wet and ready, pearly sweat on her arms, behind her neck.

“I love you so much, my darling,” he says, voice hoarse and vaguely raspy, breath hot against her neck. She trembles out a small yes, eyes closed and nails under his shirt, scratching his back. She'll love kissing all the marks she's leaving, tomorrow.

Back against the headboard, he guides her on his lap, her back on his chest. He slides in her with ease, lips on her neck and hands on her breasts. She feels so roughly open, but not vulnerable, because he's with her, and everything will be alright.

The room is filled with their voices, their sounds – wet, sticky, deep – and something sweet, light pink. She's bouncing on him, beautifully arched; she can't close her mouth long enough before the next thrust. He fits so perfectly inside her, his hands are broad and sweet, soft, and caring. ( _Are we from the same cloth, Mother? Is he the only gift you left me? Is he the proof that You love me, even if I fell_?, she prayed something, when the night was dark and deep and her heart trembling, unsure of everything but Aziraphale. The world is wide and too crowded, and without borders.)

Her orgasm melts her at the edges, nevertheless she keeps on moving on him, pushing and pushing until she can squeeze one out of him. He holds her tightly, keeps on biting her shoulders. He actually bit down hard as he was coming, so Crowley will have a reminder for days to come. She will touch it with her fingertips, pressing on it.

She breaths in and out deeply, relaxed and slightly trembling.

“Are you alright, Crowley darling?”

“Judith,” she corrects him, a snicker around her voice. He laughs, holds her tight, arms around her waist.

“Are you alright, Judith darling?”

“Mh-mh...”

He trails kisses down the neck, on the sharp profile of her collarbone. “Do you want to rest a little, sweetheart?”

“Mh-mh...”

He manoeuvrers her under the cover, carefully. She's nothing but a purring mess against his chest, hair all messy and red, puffy lips, all of her lipstick on Aziraphale's neck and mouth and collarbones.

“I love you so much.” Her voice is as soft as clay, slightly sticky. “So, so much. I know I only say it when I'm completely fucked out, I'm sorry.”

“There's nothing to be sorry about, dove,” a kiss on her temple, a reassuring hand that tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, “I know words can be hard. And I know you love me, even if you wouldn't say it any more. You wear your heart on your sleeve, darling.”

She doesn't fight it, even if she feels she should, but she's too tired to, and admittedly she doesn't really want to. She snuggles up more, firmly tucking her head under the chin, basking in the afterglow. She feels content, sinfully loved; Aziraphale is slowly kissing the crown of her hair, doodling circles on the arm she has thrown over his belly.

“Should we order room service? I heard they do remarkable things to eels.”

“Oh! That sounds wonderful, my dear! Do you feel like fish?”

“Not hungry, angel.”

“Well, as your doctor I must insist you eat something. Perhaps some meat tartare? You were fond of that the few last time we've eaten out.”

“mmmkay. You call, though. Just... ten more minutes, please. Let me have you for myself ten more minutes, doctor.”

“You talk like I'm not always yours.”

“Yes, but... humour me, please?”

“Of course, my darling Judith.” He kisses her forehead, and she sighs, kisses his neck once. He plays with her hair, and she closes her eyes. Everything is calm, still, and full of love.


End file.
